Saturday, August 05, 2006

Please LORD, Help me

"I was astonished that although I now loved you . . . I did not persist
in enjoyment of my God. Your beauty drew me to you, but soon I
was dragged away from you by my own weight and in dismay I
plunged again into the things of this world . . . as though I had sensed
the fragrance of the fare but was not yet able to eat it."Aurelius Augustine, Confessions, trans. R. S. Pine-Coffin (New York:
Penguin, 1961), 152 (VII.17).

2 comments:

I love that Augustine quote... it relates not only to my daily experience of life but also to everything I've been reading and studying for my thesis. It's weird... I've been reading some Anne Sexton poems recently, one that I think express Augustine's exact sentiments in that quote, and one that even refers to him directly:

"The Saints come,as human as a mouth,

[...]

Saint Augustine said:God, make me chaste,but not yet.The party had not begun.The food was there, the drinks were therebut the people were waiting at the doorto be let in,waiting as Augustine was waitingwith their open mouthslike the beaks of nestlings."

I really like this next poem... it shows how our agonizing hunger for God and confession of unworthiness leads to an emptiness of self, which allows Him to fill us and feed others through us:

"Someone brought me oranges in my despairbut I could not eat a onefor God was in that orange.I could not touch what did not belong to me.

[...]

I kept saying:I've got to have something to hold on to.People gave me Bibles, crucifixes,a yellow daisy,but I could not touch them,I who was a house full of bowel movement,I who was a defaced altar,I who wanted to crawl toward Godcould not move nor eat bread.

So I ate myself,bite by bite,and the tears washed me,wave after cowardly wave,swallowing canker after cankerand Jesus stood over me looking downand He laughed to find me gone,and put His mouth to mineand gave me His air.

My kindred, my brother, I saidand gave the yellow daisyto the crazy woman in the next bed."

And here's one I wrote... obviously not as brilliant poetically as Sexton's, but for what it's worth: